


Christmas Curse

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: #SPNAdventCalendar2020 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas curse, Crack, Day 6, Gen, Humor, SPNAdventCalendar2020, The Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Dean is awakened by Sam, who is panicking over a strange, new situation that's put upon them. What's with the creepy Santa doll, and why does it keep popping up everywhere?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: #SPNAdventCalendar2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038141
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Christmas Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I did not get this idea on my own. One of my favorite actors/writers/directors for YouTube used to do a ton of hilarious skits, and he has this one called [Creepy Santa Doll](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxhpSfsnjyc). It was all I could think of.
> 
> Written for day 6 of #SPNAdventCalendar2020 on tumblr by @bend-me-shape-me.
> 
> Prompt: Christmas Curse.

“ _DEAN_!”

Dean was shocked from his sleep, hearing Sam calling for him as effective as getting doused with a bucket of ice water. In a second, he was grabbing his Colt MK IV from underneath his pillow, re-checking that it was loaded, and hurried out of his room. He went quickly, but kept the gun held out, knees slightly bent to have better control over his motions should he need to dodge anything.

When he entered Sam’s room, the light was on, and his brother was running his hands through his hair. Dean checked every corner of the room, and aside from seeing a creepy Santa doll, he didn’t see anything strange. He lowered his gun.

“Sam, come on! I thought you were dying.”

“Yeah, me too. I woke up in bed with that thing,” he said, pointing across the room where the Santa doll had clearly been pushed onto the floor.

Dean decided to not put his gun away just yet. He approached, pistol pointed at the floor away from his feet. He kicked the Santa doll, and then, expecting some form of retaliation, he stepped back, leveling the gun at it.

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes from Santa. “We don’t _own_ any crap like this.”

“I know! I just… I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to hit the lore. Till we figure out what to do with it, maybe we should lock it up in the storage closet with all the other artifacts.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

Both Winchesters slept in that day, having to recharge after their odd encounter with the Santa doll. They were in the kitchen now, eating breakfast, and drinking coffee that Dean had made. Dean was telling Sam about something Cas had texted him, and then, off to the side, a flash of red and white caught his eye.

Dean dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl, milk splattering onto the table, and onto his black undershirt. His jaw went slack as he turned, and he saw it: the Santa doll.

Dean kicked Sam under the table to get his attention.

“Ow! What the hell? What?”

Dean just tilted his head in Santa’s direction. “Look.”

Sam, confused for a few seconds, did so. His face relaxed into a look of utter disbelief.

“You locked the chest you put it in, right?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s throw it out,” Sam suggested.

“Dude, bad idea!”

Sam turned to look at him, face furrowing in confusion. “Wait, why?”

“What if it gets angry?”

“It’s a _Santa doll_. I don’t think it _can_ get angry.”

Dean picked up his coffee to have a sip, and then he pointedly said, “That is exactly what a dude who ends up getting murdered by Santa would say.”

Sam just tilted his head at him, nostrils flaring.

“I’m throwing it out,” he declared.

Dean raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “It’s your funeral.” He downed the rest of his coffee.

Sam was relieved, but a little nervous after throwing the doll out. What if it came back?

_Don’t be stupid. How could it come back?_

But it had before.

For the most part, the day was normal. Sam tried to do research on the possibility of objects being possessed by ghosts (though he didn’t think that was what was going on here, since there weren’t any other signs of ghost activity), and he looked into cursed objects.

So far, that creepy doll hadn’t reappeared. Thank god. Sam just wanted to shoot the thing in the head at this point.

He got up to go to the bathroom, and when he turned… there it was. Staring at him.

Sam held in a yelp, and then took it and threw it out the door. He finished with his business, and then grabbed the doll, feeling some bit of satisfaction by holding it around the neck. He went to the library and dropped it on the table Dean was at. Dean jumped at the sudden clattering.

“It was watching me in the bathroom,” he said, taking his seat across from Dean.

Dean just started laughing.

“What?” Sam asked, spreading his arms out.

Dean laughed harder, head tilted back, mouth open. His face was turning red, and when he finally seemed to calm down, he looked at Sam. My god, were those tears in his eyes?

“Sammy, that’s hilarious.”

“It’s not. What if it was trying to watch you do your business?”

Dean just shrugged, and pulled a book closer to him. “I ain’t ashamed of what I got.”

“Great. Real helpful.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

They kept an eye on the doll, digging deep into cursed objects. So far… nothing.

“What if we lock it up?” Sam asked. “You know, put it in a curse box.”

“Maybe…” Dean mused. “ _Or_ we can just burn the sucker.”

“You know that’s bad for the environment, right?”

“Thank you, tree-hugger police,” Dean intoned. He grabbed the doll, and stared at it. The eyes were empty, dead. The thing looked like a normal doll. “I mean,” Dean went on, “it’s not all plastic. It’s ceramic, so maybe it won’t be so bad?”

Sam sighed, and slapped his hands to his thighs. “Alright, fine.”

Despite the thin layer of snow, and the frozen mud on the ground, they went out to their usual abandoned, dirt crossroads where they burned their dead. This thing didn’t deserve a hunter funeral, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to get one.

Dean was carrying the doll in a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. Sam had salt, and oil.

They set about their work, struggling to find any bits of dry wood, but eventually, they had a sizeable pile. Kindling was set up along the edges.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Dean said.

He went and placed the doll on top of the wood, and Sam salted it, threw oil on, and Dean lit the kindling. The kindling didn’t want to go up at first, thanks to the wind, and the cold environment. Eventually, Dean got it. He gently blew on the fire to coax it to life, and used a stick to nudge at the kindling.

The fire hit the wood, and found the oil that had dripped down the logs. It went up.

The doll burned.

They stayed till the doll was nothing but charred, half-melted remains, and then they used snow to douse the fire.

“Alright. Home,” Dean said. “There’s a bottle of scotch that’s calling my name.”

Dean went to sleep peacefully that night knowing that the Santa doll was dead. That peace didn’t last, and he tossed and turned for what might have been hours, his dreams filled with a doll that came to life, and stabbed him through the gut, eyes completely black and soulless.

Blood splattered on the living doll. It stared down at him as he collapsed to the floor. Its bloody beard was the last thing he saw.

Dean woke up, covered in a cold sweat, startled. When he realized he was in his room, and that he was alright, he just shook his head, and started to laugh at himself.

_Idiot,_ he chastised. _The doll’s dead. Pretty sure it can’t kill you neither._

A clattering sounded from out in the hall. Dean grabbed his gun, and went to hunt down what was causing the noise. His heart beat fiercely in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. His skin tingled, all of him alert.

_Please don’t be Santa. Please don’t be Santa._

When he turned a corner, he saw it. The doll was back. It just stood facing the wall that was only a few inches from its stupid ceramic nose. It didn’t move, was utterly still in the dark. Dark ash was smudged across its entire body. Then, the Santa doll seemed to shudder and shake.

“Merry Christmas,” it growled.

Dean let out a startled cry, and shot the thing till it was just shards and dust. Then he found a curse box to lock it in.

All the noise had woken Sam, and he helped Dean with sweeping up the mess, and locking it away.

“What the fuck, man?” Dean asked, now nursing a beer while leaning against the metal counter in the kitchen. Sam was doing the same.

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Christmas curse, I guess,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head, had a few swallows of his beer, and then said, “I knew I always hated Santa.”


End file.
